Getting to Know You
by CCroquette
Summary: College AU. When Berwald's crazy Finnish roommate sets him up on a blind date, he's sure there's absolutely no way it's going to work out. When he meets Ludwig, he's sure his suspicions have been confirmed. When he gets to know him, however...


Berwald looked in the mirror and frowned. "Dunno why I agreed to do this," he muttered, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt. He didn't do blind dates. Or… well, any dates, really. What had he been thinking?

Tino promptly reached out and tugged the shirt back into place. "Come on, Feliciano thinks you guys'll get on great. He's a Stats major! That's kind of like Engineering, isn't it?"

It was about as close as Tino's International Studies major was to a degree in Dance Performance, but Berwald didn't have the heart to tell him that when he was clearly trying to be helpful.

"And anyways it's good to get out once in a while!" Done fussing for the moment, Tino stood back and admired his handiwork. "I wish you'd have listened to my advice about the underwear, though. What if he gets your pants off and falls asleep?"

If Tino's friend's taste in potential romantic partners was anything like Tino's own, Berwald highly doubted that anybody would be getting anyone's pants off tonight, and even then it wasn't his fault that the military surplus store sold boxers at bulk discount. They may not have been especially exciting - or flattering - but they were rugged enough to handle the machines at the laundromat and comfortable enough to wear no matter the occasion, and the drab grey color meant he never had to separate them from the rest of his laundry.

As he'd explained this to Tino a million times before, however, and he didn't particularly care to engage in a clinical dissection of his sex life (or the lack thereof), all he said on the subject was, "Hm."

He was saved from having to elaborate when a knock sounded at the door.

"Ooh, he's fashionably late!" Tino flashed him a grin and ducked out of sight. "Good luck!"

With one last glower at the mirror Berwald headed to the doorway, trying to calm his nerves. He didn't _do_ this. He'd had a couple brief relationships before, but they'd developed almost by accident and ended just as quickly, without much dating involved. What was he supposed to do? There was no possible way for this to end well.

His would-be date knocked again, and Berwald realized it was rude to keep him waiting.

When he opened the door, his first thought was that the guy standing there was actually not all that bad-looking (he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it definitely wasn't tall and blond and well-built, with a jaw like the edge of a knife). His second thought was that the guy standing there looked just about as uncomfortable as Berwald felt.

"You are Berwald?" His English was clear, colored with an accent Berwald couldn't quite place. He was a foreign student too, then.

He was also waiting for Berwald to answer.

Berwald nodded.

"Ludwig." He smiled. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sorry I'm late. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

After a couple seconds of agonized staring, they headed out into the chilly fall air. Feliciano - Tino's friend and Ludwig's neighbor - had recommended a pizza place not too far from campus that apparently also had good beer, so that was where they were headed. Once Ludwig had informed him of this, they fell into an awkward silence, until Ludwig spoke up, "So…where are you from?"

"Sweden." Was that too blunt? He _really_ didn't know how to do this. He added, "Stockholm."

"Ah, I visited Stockholm once. It's an interesting city."

"You're from…?"

"Germany. Munich."

"Hm." He'd never been there. Dammit, now he had to think of something else to talk about. "'S, uh… nice weather today, isn't it?"

"Ja. Not too cold."

They made the rest of the trip in silence, and by the time they were seated Berwald could tell that this definitely wasn't going to work out. Still, leaving now would be the height of rudeness, and then Tino would get on his case for not trying. He tried to smile, and dredged up the only other conversation topic he could think of. "So… you study Statistics?"

"Yes. You?"

"Civil Engineering."

Ludwig's eyes widened. "Oh! When Feliciano said he knew someone, I wasn't expecting…"

At Berwald's questioning glance, he explained, "He's in art school."

_Art_ school?

"Oh god," Berwald blurted out, "How d'you _do_ it?"

Berwald understood math. He understood science. The only thing he understood about the humanities was that he _didn't_ understand them, and he especially didn't understand humanities students.

Tino, for example. Tino was great. He was smart, funny, kind and oddly eloquent when he wanted to be. He always paid his rent on time and could be counted upon no matter what. He was an excellent roommate and a true friend. He was also completely, utterly insane. Berwald could only imagine what it was like living with a full-on _artiste_.

Ludwig gave him a knowing look, and smile a lot more genuine than the one he'd worn before. It softened the severe lines of his face, and flooded Berwald's veins with a rush of electric heat.

"Lots of patience," said Ludwig, and raised his beer bottle. "And alcohol."

Berwald smiled back and raised his own bottle, clinking them together in a toast. Finally, someone who got it.

Maybe this would work out after all.

Ice thus broken, it was surprisingly simple to keep the conversation moving. Over the course of dinner, they discovered that they both liked dogs - Ludwig had three back home in Germany and was more than eager to show Berwald a picture, at which Berwald had made a most unmanly noise because they were just too _cute_ - they both had an almost obsessive passion for efficiency, and neither of them could fully comprehend their housemates.

"- so then," Berwald continued, sprawled in his seat with one arm draped lazily over the back of the booth, "He comes home at two in the mornin', drunk off his ass, babblin' in three languages about post-Soviet nuclear strategy or somethin'. Told him drinkin' vodka didn't count as research an' he got _mad_ at me, an' to make it better, I had to sit an' watch C-SPAN with him 'til he passed out!"

"I know what you mean!" Ludwig had sprawled out, too, an easy smile on his face, resting one well-muscled leg against the inside of Berwald's own. "It's impossible to get any work done! I was late tonight because as I was getting ready to leave Feliciano barged in, covered in paint, and wearing nothing but a fruit basket! A _fruit basket!_ I don't even know where he got it from!"

Berwald couldn't suppress a chuckle. At least Tino had never done that. "Should come to the Ag Library when you're tryin' to work. 'S empty after 9 PM."

He'd discovered it quite by accident late one night, looking for a place to hide out after he'd inadvertently walked in on Tino losing his virginity atop the 1978 volume of Annals of Ethnography. And that… was not a mental image he really wanted right now. He drank, a long slow swallow, and leaned his leg a little more heavily against Ludwig's, breath hitching as the warmth bled through the thick fabric of his jeans.

Ludwig's breath caught too, and then the smile deepened. "I'd, ah, like to. Perhaps we could study together sometime?"

Was that an invitation to a second date? One side of Berwald's mouth quirked up. "Definitely."

They finished dinner with ease, split the check, and made their way outside - and promptly realized they had no idea what to do next.

"So…" said Ludwig as they stood on the street corner, staring out at the frosty night. It had gotten colder; his breath formed little silvery clouds as he spoke. He opened his mouth again, as if to say something, shut it, and turned to Berwald with a look that was almost embarrassed.

Berwald definitely wasn't a social butterfly. Years spent more-or-less alone with facts and figures and charts meant that his ability to read people left a lot to be desired. Still, he glanced over at Ludwig and thought he saw in his face the same thing that he was feeling - he really liked him, he really didn't want the night to be over just yet, and he _really_ couldn't think of any more small talk.

He took a chance, and dared to mutter, "Could do coffee..."

He didn't miss the relief that spread over Ludwig's face, nor the way that he barely waited for him to finish speaking before he asked, "Your place or mine?"

* * *

Ludwig lived in a little apartment on the top floor of an old house that had been subdivided. They didn't say much on the way over, but as they walked, Ludwig half-hesitantly slipped his hand into Berwald's, and Berwald took it, enjoying the grip of strong, slightly roughened fingers.

By the time they reached the door of the house Berwald was definitely starting to feel nerves. He didn't do dating, he definitely didn't do hook-ups - but everything had worked out so far, hadn't it? Maybe it would continue working out.

By the time they reached the third-floor landing he was considering foregoing anything else and just making coffee when they got inside, and leaving immediately after - thus ensuring that this most certainly wouldn't continue to work out, at all - but Ludwig had the door unlocked before he could make up his mind, and in the end, it was easier to just stop thinking altogether.

The apartment was an efficiency, tiny but, from what Berwald could tell in the dim moonlight, not cluttered. "'S, uh, efficient."

Ludwig made an approving noise, and reached out a hand. "I'll take your coat."

Berwald handed it to him, touch lingering just a little bit long as his hand - nervous, almost shaking - brushed against Ludwig's. Ludwig hung the coat up, and they stood there staring at each other in the dark for far too long before Berwald decided to hell with nerves and kissed him. After a moment's hesitation, Ludwig returned it, his mouth a burning contrast to night-chilled skin. Berwald shivered under it, and Ludwig's hands found their way to his waist, stroking tentatively up his ribcage, leaving trails of aching heat in their wake.

It was astoundingly easy for Berwald to wrap his arms around him and pull him close, splaying long fingers out over a heavily-muscled back, as Ludwig deepened the kiss and and let out a low moan that sent every bit of warmth in Berwald's body rushing between his legs. It was easier still to follow his lead - encouraged by a gentle nudge of hips-against-hips - toward the neatly-made bed.

All hesitation forgotten, Berwald fell back onto it, pulling Ludwig down with him. After a moment's awkward tangling of limbs Ludwig moved to straddle his hips, and leaned down to kiss him again, threading curious fingers through Berwald's hair. Berwald answered with an approving hum, as his hands crept down to Ludwig's waistband, and up the back of his shirt, relishing the feel soft skin over firm muscle. _Definitely_ a better idea than coffee.

Before things could proceed any further, he pulled away from the kiss, panting. There was absolutely no way he was stopping this now, but there _was_ something he needed to know before he committed to any particular course of action. "Have condoms?"

Ludwig drew back, earning a moan from Berwald at the loss of delicious contact, and answered, slightly breathless, "In the bottom drawer."

Berwald twisted to reach the bottom drawer of the dresser, pulling his T-shirt up and halfway off when it got caught under Ludwig's leg and nearly trapped him. Once free, he found the condoms easily enough, but it was what lay next to the unopened box that caught his eye.

There, impeccably folded with an almost military precision, stood a stack of dull-grey boxer shorts, the top pair still bearing a tag from Sergeant Stubby's Discount Digs. Berwald couldn't help but laugh.

Ludwig frowned up at him, from where he'd started working at the top button on Berwald's pants. "What?"

With a lopsided grin, Berwald hooked his thumb through a belt loop and yanked his jeans down just far enough to expose the waistband of an identical pair of grey shorts. " 'S the same."

He might have seen the barest glimpse of a matching grin on Ludwig's face before Ludwig lunged in to catch his lips in a searing kiss.

Yes, Berwald decided, this was definitely going to work out.

* * *

As Berwald headed home the next afternoon - very pleased, very much looking forward to tomorrow night's study session, (or, "study session," as it were) and very certainly just a bit sore in _just_ the right ways - he realized that he wasn't entirely sure whose boxers he was wearing. And, he decided, he didn't much care.


End file.
